


Tim-Cat

by shadowolfhunter



Category: Justified
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowolfhunter/pseuds/shadowolfhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan Givens and Tim Gutterson run into a little trouble searching for a vicious wife-battering fugitive. Raylan's feelings for his fellow marshal are tested. How far will he go to save Tim's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I don't believe it!

“Are you actually telling me that you believe that?” Tim’s drawl did nothing to conceal the note of glee in his voice.

Raylan clenched his jaw in irritation. Deputy US Marshal Timothy Gutterson had the almost unique ability to push his buttons every single time. He knew it was because Tim got him, but damn, this time it was just a little too much.

“I don’ exactly believe it, I just don’ discount it out of hand.” He kept his tone even, hoping that this would be enough for Tim and that his partner would then drop the subject.

This was Tim. What was Raylan thinking?

“Raylan Givens, superstitious, who wouldha thunk it?”

Raylan rolled his eyes, Tim was the one who would always poke the possum with the stick to see if it was really dead. Teasing Raylan had become Tim Gutterson’s favourite pastime.

“Yes, Timothy. I’m superstitious, can we now drop it.” Truth was, that nasty old crone gave him the heebie-jeebies. The way her dark eyes roved over both of them, Lisette DuClos… as nasty an old voodoo practitioner as Raylan had ever had the misfortune to run into. Hunting her nasty fugitive great nephew was their miserably allotted task, and since Art had taken great pains to send them out together, even Raylan could read between the lines of Art’s concern for their safety on this one.

Surprisingly, Tim dropped the subject. “We are still drawing a blank on this guy, and his great Auntie wasn’t precisely helpful.” Raylan snorted at that. His great Auntie had predicted with some nasty words that Raylan and Tim wouldn’t be catching her kin any time soon. Curtis Fremont was a nasty, violent and dumb drunk who liked to beat on anyone handy when he was on a bender, but his wife caught most of his violent temper.

The one thing in the world that Raylan and Tim hated with a passion was a wife batterer. By all accounts, Monica Fremont had once been a pretty, confident, happy girl who married her handsome childhood sweetheart. That he turned into his father practically overnight had been her tragedy.

Raylan could not recall the faded, tired, sad young woman to mind without feeling a pang of righteous anger, and a strong desire to demonstrate the error of Curtis’ ways upon the man’s substantial body.

He drove back to the office. They updated Art on their failure to apprehend, then headed out to Tim’s SUV. Raylan’s personal vehicle was reportedly in the shop for repairs, but Andy the mechanic had been quite clear. Raylan’s car hadn’t just seen better days, it had reached the end of days, and Raylan needed a new car.

Not that this was a particular problem, these days he and Tim were riding together a lot.

Right now they were pulling up outside Raylan’s sad little apartment, and Raylan would ask Tim if he wanted to come in, Tim would pretend to think about it for a few seconds, and then he would say yes, and they would head upstairs together.

Their arms would be around each other before Raylan would have the presence of mind to shove the door shut with his foot, and they would shed clothes all the way to Raylan’s bed.

For variety this process would be repeated at Tim’s much nicer apartment on alternate days.

Why they continued this polite fiction was the only conundrum that was plaguing Raylan’s mind. He was in love with Tim Gutterson, they were good together, so why the hell couldn’t he just open his mouth and say the words?

Mainly because this was so good, Raylan was scared of screwing it up. He’d screwed up every other relationship he had ever had. Losing Tim would kill him.

So Raylan tried, in his own inarticulate way, to show Tim Gutterson how he felt. Like cuddling. Raylan really wasn’t a cuddler. He liked intimacy just fine, but usually slept sprawled out on his back at a distance.

Until Tim.

Raylan slept wrapped around Tim like he was scared to let go. Sometimes he was certain that Tim sensed this. Tim would rub a soothing hand down Raylan’s back in long strokes that had a positively hypnotic effect. Raylan loved that, something else he couldn’t ask for.

They made love, ordered chicken, ate their dinner when it arrived in companionable comfort on Raylan’s bed, watched a couple of films on Tim’s laptop, and then curled into each other and drifted off. Tim’s hand gently rubbing Raylan’s back in the way he loved, but was still too scared to ask for.

xxxxxxxx

They had forgotten to close the curtains again, so the sunlight which streamed across the bed stabbed Raylan right in the eyes when he woke. “Damn,” he wriggled, shifting position, something warm was pressed against his chest beneath the covers and Raylan reached out for Tim.

His hand encountered space, and a wifebeater vest, and just as Raylan was starting to feel hurt that Tim had up and left him, fur.

Fur? Raylan’s brain went into overdrive, he flung the covers back, his eye noticing peripheral detail, such as Tim’s keys on the table and his laptop and…  
The cat was long and sleek, and marmalade. Huddled tight against Raylan, blue eyes sparking with confusion and fear.

Blue eyes.

Somewhere in the back of Raylan’s mind lurked the curious detail that marmalade cats didn’t have blue eyes, they were always amber or green. Just as the more fanciful part of Raylan’s psyche was chanting Tim, Tim, Tim at him, while the rational, cynical lawman was wondering if he had lost his mind.

“Tim?”

A long ginger paw shot out and patted Raylan’s cheek, softly, perhaps even a little desperately.

“Tim.” Raylan’s wail of despair almost drowned out by the sorrowful yowl of a cat.

Lisette. She had done this. She had taken his Tim.

“I’ll fix this.” Raylan climbed out of bed, and picked his Timcat up. “I promise you.” The rough little tongue swiped enthusiastically at Raylan’s unshaven jaw. It was like sandpaper. “Ouch.”

The cat gave him a look. It was so absurdly like Tim’s puzzled little frown, that Raylan almost wept.

Then the tongue went back to licking his jaw.

xxxxxxxx

Timcat had feasted on the four slices of Country Ham that Raylan had left in the fridge for sandwiches, while Raylan showered and dressed and tried to figure how he was going to get Timcat into the office without someone seeing and complaining, and with all the dangers that cats faced, how he was going to see that Timcat was safe until he could get his lover back.

First stop on the way to the office, the pet shop. Where they sold him a little harness in a camouflage pattern and a leash, two bowls for food and water, and engraved a tiny disk to put on the harness in case Timcat got lost.

“What’s his name?” The girl was bright and friendly and under less trying circumstances, Raylan might even have flirted with her, but he was too messed up to even think about that.

“Tim.”

“And what do you want on the other side, your name, and a number?”

Raylan was busy thinking of the implications of a name disk for a cat that was his man, and how much he loved his man… and damn this was weird and scary…

“Uh, what?”

“Your name and number?”

Raylan pulled himself back together with an effort. “Yes. Er… Raylan Givens,” and he rattled off his number.

Adding the name disk to the harness, Raylan took a deep breath and fastened it around Timcat before Timcat had the chance to object. “Sorry, but it’s for your own good.” He said, and tucked Timcat firmly under his arm.

Raylan slid into the driver’s seat and let go. Timcat bounded into the passenger seat and stood up, front paws on the dashboard, hind feet on the edge of the passenger seat.

“That’s dangerous.”

“Waaaoooo.”

“If I tread on the brakes, y’going down.”

“Waaaooooooo.”

Just out of perversity Raylan trod on the brake. Timcat shot forward. Bumped his nose on the dash and fell in an ungainly heap in the passenger footwell. If Raylan had needed further proof that Timcat really was Tim Gutterson, well that would have been it. The startled look on Timcat’s face spoke volumes.


	2. Sneaking Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan establishes ownership of his Timcat... sneaks into the Marshals Office... And Timcat proves a hit with the ladies.

Raylan parked their SUV in the one remaining space, okay, Tim’s SUV, but it felt better to call it their car. Even though he knew he was going to replace his old wreck. Thinking about that was not solving their problem though. Somehow he had to get in through a door, either entrance, and up into the office with a very distinctive cat under his arm.

This was Kentucky. They were laid back about livestock in Kentucky, but he couldn’t even recall the last time he’d seen a seeing-eye dog in the vicinity of the building. For all he knew, some miserable judge with time on his hands and nothing better to do with his life had decreed that the building would be a fur-and-four-legs-free-zone.

Just because Raylan didn’t personally know it, didn’t mean it wasn’t so.

Damn. He clipped the leash to the harness, and shrugged back into his long coat.

“Okay. We’re gonna do this.” Raylan got out of the SUV, tucked the two bowls into his pocket, and picked up Timcat. And tucked him inside Raylan’s black coat.

For a change there were few people hanging about in the lobby as Raylan virtually scuttled through. He made the elevators, and pressed the up button. Index and middle fingers of his right hand bounced on the button. Twice. Three times, and then the elevator doors were opening and he dived through, sure that everyone could see the hunched up bundle on the left under his coat was an illicit feline.

The doors were just starting to close when a foot stepped through the door. 

Shit.

“Raylan.”

“Judge.” Raylan nodded, twisting his body a little more in an attempt to conceal the suspicious bulge under the left hand side of his coat.

The doors swished closed and the elevator started up. Raylan tried to think of something to say, squeezing his left arm a little more firmly around the soft bundle under his coat. There was a muted sneeze from somewhere next to Raylan’s left armpit, and Raylan attempted to cough to cover it.

The elevator stopped, as the doors opened Judge Reardon gave Raylan the most peculiar smile and said “Son,” waved his finger in the general direction of the front of Raylan’s coat.

As the door closed Raylan looked down.

Three inches of ginger striped tail were poking coyly out of the front of Raylan’s coat.

Raylan sighed, settled his hat on his head a little more firmly, and stepped off as the door opened. There was no one hanging about in the foyer outside the elevator, affording Raylan a clear run straight to his desk.

He hunched over and deposited Timcat on the floor behind his desk. “Stay!” he hissed, unclipping the leash. He put his hat down, and peeled off his coat, folding it inside out to make a bed for Timcat. Bent down again. No Timcat.

Timcat was up on Raylan’s desk, pawing at the on switch to Raylan’s computer. Raylan’s eyes bulged and his jaw clenched. “Down.” He hissed through gritted teeth.

The computer switched on to Raylan’s sign-in prompt, and Timcat ignored Raylan.

“AWWWWWW… isn’t he cute?” Laney Stevens, Art’s new, very young secretary slash office girl, was standing by his desk petting Timcat. Unfortunately she was loud enough to draw the attention of Rachel and two other office ladies. Suddenly Raylan was surrounded by cooing women.

By then, Rachel had Timcat in her arms, and Laney was rubbing his chin with her knuckles, something that Timcat seemed to be enjoying a little too much. The purring being something of a giveaway. Raylan clenched his jaw until it ached.

The word cute was being bandied about a lot, and then Rachel read the name tag on the harness. “Tim.” She said, with a slightly puzzled frown, “does Tim know about this?”

Under the circumstances Raylan was pretty sure Tim knew, and cute was not a word he could associate with this. Sucky, weird, terrifying, those were all words that he could get behind, cute… not so much.

The puddle of cuteness and girly emotions brought Art out of his office to see what all the fuss was about. Raylan had no doubt that Art was about to read him the riot act for the marmalade cat currently lying in Rachel’s arms overdosing on all the female attention. But when said cat climbed from Rachel’s arms into Art’s somewhat startled arms, Raylan’s jaw then clenched so hard he was certain something snapped. The pain in his jaw was nothing to the pain from the headache that Raylan could feel building behind his left eye.

The purring was even louder, and Art had this pleased smirk on his face. Raylan slumped into his chair and put his head in his hands.

In Raylan’s nineteen year career, he had been through a lot of shit. But this shit. This shit was burning him up inside with fear and worry. Just the thought that he might have lost his Tim forever was drying his mouth, and making his pulse race.

“Raylan?”

Somewhere through the fog of his fear and panic, Art’s concerned voice penetrated.

“Huh?”

“Raylan, are you sick?” Art’s face was showing a lot of concern. Raylan tried to pull himself together.

“No. No… I’ll be fine.” _Well maybe not that fine, but I’ll survive anyhow_.

“Y’don’ look fine, y’look like shit.”

There really wasn’t an answer to that. Raylan knew he looked like hell. So denial was out of the question, and right in the middle of the bullpen he had absolutely no intention of speaking about any of the shit that kicked the stuffing out of him.

Explaining Timcat to Art was going to take every ounce of ingenuity he possessed.


End file.
